The Wild Beasts of Anthony Mannis

Public Safety Officers (PSOs) are the dedicated watchmen of developed Borges cities, visible on nearly every street. They double as a national guard, and can be activated into an effective militia if a Warden or Elite Spectre Man requires their service.

- Information Available to Borges Citizens, Pamphlet I

It was pitch black and Anthony was in an unfamiliar home. The only source of light came from the moon outdoors, casting the faintest of rays through wide windows. From what he could ascertain in the dimness, he was in a sort of log cabin in the middle of a redwood forest. Somehow he ended up in the washroom, which seemed to be made of black and green gold-veined marble. The moonlight streaming through the washroom window was now blindingly bright, like a skydrone’s searchlight, casting beautiful patterns on the ground as it filtered through red and blue stained glass. He was under his bed, lying on the cool hardwood floor. Mounds of dust fluttered every time he breathed. Hayley lay beside him. She smiled, her nose scrunching up on her freckled face. She began to slide backwards, away from his side, as if a rope was attached around her waist and hauling her away.

“Wait,” he cried.

Hayley laughed. It sounded like wind chimes. She faded into the darkness, which began to ooze towards him menacingly. It’s going to get chilly tonight.

“Wait!” he cried louder, but the darkness was engulfing him, pinning him to the floor. Her laughter turned into the tromp of black boots.

“Tell this idiot to wake up,” Hayley’s voice came through muddily.

Where am I? He moved a bit, but the blankets were tucked in tight. Oh, I’m in a bed.

“Hey, be nice to him,” he could hear Philip say, “he had a rough night, remember?”

“Oh did he?” she sounded rather unsympathetic, “He’s got a tummyache. I got shot. I don’t recall them digging a bullet out of his jacket.” His bed was shaking.

Anthony opened his eyes. Hayley sat at the edge of his bed, biting her lip and tapping her toe rapidly, causing the whole bed frame to rock. Her jacket was off, hanging on a peg somewhere; in just a cotton shirt and canvas pants she looked thin and tired. When she saw him flutter into consciousness her concerned look vanished, her eyes sparking as she tightened the corners of her mouth and crossed her arms.

“Good afternoon, stupid,” she said angrily. “Have a nice trip?”

“Good afternoon yourself,” he replied, too tired to move. “What are you talking about? Where’s Darius and the Tzolkhan?”

Philip cleared his throat. “Darius is in the next room, the Tzolkhan are in the forest. The doctor found evidence of sightseers in your system, Anthony.” He stared sternly down over his glasses at his friend.

“Doctor? Was it Doctor Jean?”

“No, why would it be him?”

Anthony shrugged. “Just wondering. That doctor’s probably wrong. I feel fine.”

Hayley pounded her fist on the frame of the bed, shaking. “No it is not! Anthony, those things are seriously harmful.”

Philip agreed. “They cause damage to the brain and your body is going to develop a dependency. The withdrawals will be horrendous.”

“They can’t be that bad,” Anthony protested. “They’re natural! Wild-grown!”

“Weak argument,” Hayley growled, her fist clenched, “castor beans are natural. Not like you would eat them. Well maybe you would. Idiot.”

“Take it easy, Hayley,” Philip placed a hand on her shoulder before turning back to Anthony. “Do you need the doctor to come tell you the same things?”

“It’s not an addiction!” Anthony yelled, trying to sit up. “I took it once.”

“Twice.” Hayley leered, “You’re no better than the doped up SSI, or the Timesink-jaggin’ Jester.”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” he snapped. “You’d like me to admit I’m weak.”

He fell back onto the bed, blinking back tears. “Well you’re right. I’m not special. I couldn’t save my brother. I didn’t rescue my Ma. I’m not a hero. I’m a loser.”

Hayley and Philip were silent.

“I didn’t want to fight him,” Anthony whispered, “it wasn’t fun. It’s supposed to be fun.”

They could hear a man approach their door and rest a scarred arm on the lintel.

“He is awake and well, then.” Ikoa boomed.

“Hi friend!” Anthony’s voice cracked as he switched from anger to cheerfulness, and he wiped at his eyes. “I thought you left.”

Ikoa shook his head. “Not I. I wished to stay to see you better. The Tzolkhan are in the treeline. Lautara sends her regards. I will tell her you are well.”

They clasped hands, the giant man’s rough hand dwarfing the boy’s. Ikoa grinned.

“Quite the battle yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Anthony, confused, “That’s how long I was out?”

“A whole day and a half,” Hayley scowled. “Makin’ us play nurse.”

“No one asked you to.” Anthony said primly.

Hayley snorted and got up. “I’m outta here. Glad you’re awake.”

She grabbed her jacket and bow and left, slamming the door. Philip opened his mouth as if to call her back, but kept quiet.

“What’s her problem?” Anthony asked, a little too loudly.

Philip sighed. “She doesn’t believe in ah…performance enhancers. Says they’re for cheaters.”

“I guess I’m a cheater. A loser and a cheater.”

“Stop that. You just need better training, and to stop using them.”

Ikoa agreed. “Many Tzolkhan have become addicted to sightseers. I have seen… it is not a pretty sight. You will lose your mind.”

“I’ve read of their overuse in the desert as well, and invokers can go mad quite young. Nothing good comes of them,” Philip added.

Instant eyeroll. “Fine. I won’t use them. There. You didn’t have to hold an intervention.”

“Good. Get dressed, Darius has a lot to tell you. You have much to catch up on, being knocked out and all.”

Philip began to get up, but remembered something and dug around in his knapsack.

“Here, this belongs to you.”

He pressed a tattered red scarf into Anthony’s hand.

“Actually,” Anthony gripped it tight, “it belongs to Munroe.”

#

The downstairs common hall was a huge room with a kitchen unit on one end and a brick fireplace on the other. There were a handful of militiamen resting—some playing cards in a corner, others napping in big chairs with their blue and brass jackets as blankets. Flapjacks, eggs, bacon, and fresh fruit bedecked the long table in the middle of the room, the breakfast-for-dinner smells wafting to Anthony and his friends as they came down the stairs.

“Well, well, look who’s finally up,” Darius said, “Got all the sightseers outta yer system?”

“Yea.”

“Good. Those things will mess ya up, Anthony. Although…you did wail on the Nosferat pretty badly,” he winked, “the one they call Siu—the girl—she’s no joke.”

Anthony thought back to the fight. “She wasn’t so bad. I took her out first.”

“And just as well. Once she gains momentum, she’s nearly unstoppable. I’ve seen the other two—Samael and Yama—in action also. They’re pure evil, I tell ya.”

Anthony glanced over at some OZM in the corner, noticing their thousand-yard-stares. I’m sure they’ve seen the Nosferat in action as well.

“Anyway, I hope the room was to yer likin’. This whole building was a Minor Warden’s residency. There are all sorts of goodies in which we can partake: books, food, weapons—ya name it, it’s probably here.”

Darius held up a Borges gun to prove his point. “Kesla-Ally ballistic pulse rifle. And we’ve found a Napier-Sulzu workshop in town to make grenade launchers.”

“Good to know, Dar,” Anthony plopped himself into a seat and reached for a pancake. “But what’s really on my mind is, how’d you end up here? Last I heard was that everyone got arrested.”

He poured a lake of maple syrup over his plate. “And you said you know where Ma is?”

Darius held his hand up poured pancake batter on a buttered griddle. “Hold on, son, not even going ta let a man finish cooking! Phil, watch these for me. Flip ’em when ya see bubbles.” He relinquished his spatula to Philip, who poked at the cooking flapjacks gingerly. Darius sat down and began his story.

“It all started with the raid on our hometown that night…”